


Come Little Children

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen, Good Demons, Orphans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: It's been many years since the death of the Waynes and the disappearance of their son. Just about as long as the Weeping Demon has been around. He's dressed like every child's greatest fear, the adults say, but the lonely children who have met him know better, because Batman's tears are for them too.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 84





	Come Little Children

**Author's Note:**

> This concept is shamelessly inspired by this video:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiHBxWyjDOc&lc=Ugw9RuYeSu52YUsUFkl4AaABAg.9GCZ4JF3S8F9GOXL-ADQvE  
> 
> 
> Please go watch it and give BluePlanetTrash a sub, because it is fantastic and entirely worth your time.

There's a haunting that's been happening in Gotham for nearly fourty years now. The press and the more sympathetic among the population call him the Weeping Demon. The children and those with the misfortune to disturb his haunts with violence call him Batman. 

As much as the adults fear him, the Church condemns him and the criminals hate him, the children of Gotham know him differently.

So many, deep in the slum apartments, have seen the red of his eyes turn to crystalline tears, and felt the tips of his claws brush their skin as he wipes their eyes and seals their split lips. Those who harm their children draw the ire of the Bat, and seldom chance to strike their young ones again. 

Criminals with guns find themselves broken and bloodied, but always alive to face their punishment. Always alive, but in terrible shape. They fear and hate the Bat the most, perhaps because he's just as much a shadow as a being, and no mortal weapon is going to destroy him, let alone stop him. 

The orphans of Gotham know him best, and they love him the most. In the orphanages, they can hear him sing, sometimes, deep in the night, crooning lullabies in a grown man's voice when the youngest can't sleep. And the street rats know him too, because he keeps them warm, wrapped in darkness, on the wettest and coldest nights. 

But it is Dick Grayson - on the very eve of his family's death - that sees the Weeping Demon in full for the first time. 

He's a tall being, with a deep, rumbling voice. He's entirely black, blurry at the edges like mist, save for the soft, clear white light of his eyes that makes the liquid crystal of his tears shimmer, even in the dark. Only the pointed little ears on his head and the indefinite shape of a cape - or wings, maybe - make him look like a Bat at all, and Dick can't bring himself to be afraid. Even if he's evil, like the Church says or the adults seem to think, what is there left to take from him? His family is gone, and he'll be shipped off to a federal care home soon, since Mr. Haly can't adopt him or give him a job (the agents said it was illegal for him to work so young). 

"What is your name?" The Bat asks, crouching down. He blends together, like he's not really all separate pieces. 

"Dick Grayson." He answers, because what's the harm? The Bat's voice is low and warm and soothing, even despite the tears that marr his face. 

"I'm sorry." The Bat says, reaching out a clawed hand and brushing away his tears. The demon's warm and soft, like a blanket fresh out of a dryer. "I lost my parents too."

"I'm sorry too." He sniffles. "Did someone come to see you too?"

"No. That's why I'm here now - I won't let you be alone, Dick." The Bat holds out his hand, large and firm and gentle. "I will take you with me and keep you safe."

"You never took any of the other orphans."

"It was part of the deal, of the trade." The Bat says, somewhat melancholy. "I can only take in _those like me_."

"Will I become like you?"

"No. I want to make sure you don't." The Bat doesn't move, push or threaten. "But it is your choice."

He reaches out, but hesitates over the open palm. The demon does nothing but let him make his choice. When his little hand lands in the bigger one, Batman's fingers curl loosely around his and pull him to his feet, then into his embrace. The darkness of his cape wraps around him, and Dick feels safe enough to close his eyes. 

| | | 

Jason's been alone most of his life. He doesn't really remember his parents, other than some vague recollection of once having them, but he's run the streets most of his life. 

He hadn't expected the businessman to finish his illicit little meeting so fast, had thought he'd be able to get at least two of the hubcaps before he was done. He's been mistaken, obviously. He was sure he was never going to look at a cross wrench the same way again, not after having it pelted at his back and breaking ribs. His landing had been less than graceful too, slamming into the edge of a brick wall and tearing up the skin of his face. He didn't look back, but a high scream and the sickly sound of bones breaking followed him down into the alley. 

He'd not made it far before it hurt too much to move, and the tears in his eyes made it hard to see, even more than the regular Gotham murk. So, here he is now, crouched behind a dumpster and trying not to cry too hard or his broken ribs will jostle. 

A black mass materializes at the end of the alley, not making any sound as it comes down the wet asphalt. He curls in tighter - the human traffickers had mostly disappeared, but there were still some. The mass stopped in front of him, then crouched down. 

"Hello."

Jason's head snaps up, because he knows that voice. Sure enough, before him is the stalwart non-shape of the Weeping Demon. "Batman."

"I can help you." Batman says. "Will you let me?"

"Is it demon magic?"

"Demon magic?" Batman hums, amused. 

"Yeah. The nuns at the soup kitchen say you're a demon."

"It depends on one's interpretation, I suppose." Batman replies thoughtfully. "And on what side of me you're on."

"Am I on the good side?"

"Yes." The demon's tears are so beautiful. "I want to help you. Will you let me?"

He scoots forward out of his corner. "It's my ribs - in the back."

"I saw." Batman says darkly. "He will not be throwing wrenches anymore."

"You're not mad I was stealing?"

"You have no home and no food." Batman reaches out, one deceptively gentle hand smoothing along his aching back and taking the pain with it. "I can't fault you for wanting to survive."

Even as the demon pulls away, the pain doesn't return, and he can breathe easy. "Why now, all of a sudden."

"I can only take in those like me." The Bat replies. "You now qualify."

"How? What's changed since yesterday?"

"Your parents are dead."

He wishes he felt more than he does, but they left him behind. "What do you mean by take in?"

Batman extends a hand. "I'll take care of you, in all aspects. You'll be safe."

"You promise?"

"I won't hold you anywhere you don't wish to be." Batman soothes his fingertips along his face, leaving behind a pleasant tingle where the sharp bite of the scratches once was. "I want to save those like me."

"I'm not gonna turn into a demon too, right?"

"No."

Jason takes his hand. "I don't want to be here anymore."

"Then I will take you home. Dick will enjoy having a sibling."

"Wait, who's Dick?"

| | | 

Tim had an obsession with the Weeping Demon from the time he was a little boy. He scoured over everything to do with the city's resident haunting, trying to find out whether he was really supernatural or not. He'd even managed to take a picture of the two orphans the Demon had allegedly rescued - Gotham's own Nightwing and Robin - well, he was the Red Hood now, wasn't he? He held the picture dear, trying to decipher through the distance and the darkness what it was that they seemed to be smiling at, or perhaps talking to. Someone or something he couldn't see, or maybe something no camera could capture. At least that solidified - in his mind - that the Demon's orphans weren't dead too. 

It wasn't long before karma struck him. 

He loved his parents, despite their faults. He didn't want them _gone_ , but they'd done what they always did where he was concerned - leave him behind, alone. He didn't know what shady business his father had been up to in order to get them both killed, but he'd been the unfortunate one to walk in on the aftermath - blood splattered up the walls, the corpse of his father in the hallway and his mother in the living room. His screaming must have alerted the neighbours, because the lights came soon after. But he couldn't stay here, couldn't bear to look at the corpses of his parents one moment longer, nor go sit in the cold and dour police station, trying to breathe through the mortal terror as they asked him questions. He didn't want to face whatever social worker would come for him, lead him away to the orphanage, or worse yet, into a foster home. 

He can't breathe when he makes it to the alley, and he's clutching his chest when he sank down against the brick some half a dozen blocks away from his former home. He is torn between screaming and sobbing, too terrified to make a sound. He crumples in on himself, sure he is about to pass out, to be found by some vagrant and wind up in the police station anyway, dirty and cold and hungry. 

A gentle hand presses between his shoulder blades, wide enough to cover most of his back. The air frozen in his lungs unthaws and the sobs break free. 

"I know, little one, I know." The voice washes over him like hot chocolate - rich and deep, enough to pierce the frigid, damp air of Gotham that seeps into the soul of all of her residents. "Cry, I will protect you now."

He turns to face it, finding a hulking black formless mass behind him, a large clawed hand slipping off his shoulder. Crystal eyes leak liquid diamond, sparkling even in the forbidden darkness of the alley. The Demon holds still, as if aware that he can be frightening. Tim, however, is anything but scared. He's sought the Demon since he found about about him, he just never thought this would be the price of finding him.

"I wish it had never come to this, little bird." The Weeping Demon coos. "But it is the price to know me."

He launches himself at the figure, surprised to find him warm and solid, arms wrapping firmly around him. The agony inside him isn't dissolved, but it doesn't feel like the world will fall apart around him anymore. He peers toward the end of the alley, even more surprised to find both Nightwing and Red Hood standing there, matching expressions of regret and old pain on their faces. Nightwing managed a sympathetic smile. 

"Yeah, it sucks. But we'll take care of you now."

He breathes out, holding tightly onto the Demon, and closes his eyes, letting the darkness take him.

* * *

Wally and Roy both spit out their drinks, and Kon chokes on his food. 

"The fuck you mean Batman's _real_?" Roy barks. 

Dick wrinkles his nose and pulls napkins out of the dispenser beside him, mopping up the mess. Jason pointedly wipes the pop from his face, and Tim takes the napkins Dick passes him and sops up the rest of the scattered liquid. Wally, at least, has the grace to look sheepish, but Roy's just beside himself. 

"Yeah, fuckface." Jason replies, staying stock still as Dick gives up on holding out a napkin for him and just starts cleaning him up himself. "That's what I just said."

Kon, once he manages to swallow his food, coughs and straightens. The relief on his face says he's abruptly thankful he's Kryptonian and doesn't _really_ have to breathe. 

"How?' Wally asks, sitting forward. "What is he? Is he actually a demon? A ghost? Who was he before this? Are you guys actually dead too?"

The scathing look Dick tosses him says Wally should be glad he's pretty and that Dick likes pretty things. Wally shrinks back, but doesn't retract the question. 

"He's a demon and a ghost, but not really either." Tim answers, because the Robins all chose morons as partners. "He died but didn't pass on. It's hard to explain, and even he's not really sure what happened or why. The way he described it to me was like he continued to live, just outside of his body. Part of the bargain for continuing to live that way was that he could only interact with those like him."

"Bargain?" Kon cocks his head, and apparently he gets to speak because he didn't coat anyone in his saliva. "Made with who?"

"Alfred." Dick answers blithely. 

Kon glances between the brothers, and when they don't seem to think that needs any further explanation, he prompts, "Who?"

"Alfred." Jason answers. "He's the angel that looks after children. What's the Hebrew?"

"Zerachiel." Tim replies. 

Jason snaps his fingers. "That's the one."

"Then why did you call him _Alfred_?" Kon scrunches up his nose and Tim has to repress a sigh - Kon might be a moron like the other two, but damn is he cute.

"Because that's how he introduced himself, how he presents on Earth. It's just easier all around than calling him by his angellic name."

"That makes sense." Kon goes back to eating, and Tim loves him even more. 

"Do you know his name? The Bat's?" Roy questions.

"Yeah." Dick says softly. "But we're not telling you."

"Does anyone else but you know?" Wally glances between them. 

"Nope. We're the only ones with him." 

"Is it possible for us to see him?"

"Maybe." Dick replies flippantly. "Depends on if he shows himself. We're patrolling tonight, so if you want to try and catch a glimpse, feel free."

| | | 

Wally, Roy and Kon never did wind up seeing the Weeping Demon, but it was better that way. For all the good he'd done for them, to warrant his attention meant tragedy one way or another. 

"It's okay, B." Dick says, leaning into the black form. "We'll always love you."

"Yeah." Jason agrees, flopping down across the Demon's lap while Tim drapes himself around his neck. "Doesn't matter how real everyone else thinks you are."

The Batman's essence spreads through the room, enveloping them all in warmth. Alfred appears from the back of the hall, carrying drinks for the three boys. Alfred and Batman don't drink or eat, after all. 

"You're the best, Alfred." Dick moans as he takes a long sip of his coffee. 

"I should hope so." Alfred teases before leaving again. 

Batman's arms slip out of his solid but relatively shapeless form, stroking through all their hair in turn. "I love you too, my Robins."

They all settle back against him in the main parlour room of the very hospitable cave under the derelict remains of Wayne Manor. And Batman . . . 

Well, Bruce may have never been found after his parents were discovered dead in an alley, but he held onto his new family tightly, determined never to have to shed tears for them too. 


End file.
